Shout-outs:
anon: (Smacks head)
Relenalover, Solo, Lynn, Nicole, and MacuKnight: Thank you all so much.
Nghtm1r: I already contacted you, but if you're reading this…what you said was extremely uncalled for. You portrayed yourself as narrow and judgmental. You gave this fic barely half a chance before writing it off. You insulted my integrity as a writer. You're not the only one who takes writing seriously. I'd greatly appreciate an apology. I don't mind if you dislike this fic, but it's not your place to insult me like that.
Constant Reader: You clicked on a story called "Societal Ills" and didn't expect it to be preachy? In fact, when it comes up, my friends and I do discuss our religions and nationalities. That whole conversation stemmed from just one announcement that Duo was going toTemple with Hilde. With my friends, one announcement can lead to a discussion like that. Also remember that Duo lives in a church, Hilde's father is a rabbi (and Quatre's father run his mosque, which I haven't mentioned yet) so religion is a big part of their lives. Duo dominated the conversation, so of course it would lean toward religion. As for my writing being permeated by "I'm open-minded" instances, I'm acting on this great quote: "Writers are not concerned with facts, only with what is true". If it's forceful, I'm sorry, but that's just how I believe, and therefore how I write.
Author's Note—I'm speaking of Jews and Muslims as a Quaker. I'm speaking of Doves and Hawks as an Owl. I'm speaking of diseases as a healthy girl. My writing may not always be correct. I'm asking you to tell me if I've gotten something wrong. This must be FACTUAL information that I've gotten wrong, NOT opinions.
Second author's Note—The vibe you're supposed to get from this story is NOT that they're just starting to deal with it, but they've BEEN dealing with it
December 7th, 2004, Part Three
2: 00 PM—SHBEIKER HOUSEHOLD
"Hilde… Hilde, we have to report this," Duo said, grabbing Hilde's arm.
Hilde ignored Duo. Her eyes were oddly blank, as if she had seen someone die right in front of her. Suddenly, a savage red blood rose to her face. Viciously, she launched herself from Duo and shoved open the door.
"Hilde!" Duo ran after her frantically. "They might still be in there!"
The inside of Hilde's home was littered with the graffiti of obscene messages and swastikas. Stuffing from pillows was strewn haphazardly across the ripped-up couch. Broken glass from cups, windows, and mirrors were sprinkled over the floor in perfect, sinister symmetry. The shards crunched into smaller pieces under Duo's feet as his pace slowed. The writing on the walls made him physically sick. The glass seemed to cut right through his sneakers.
A scream from Hilde brought his attention from the graffiti and back to her.
"Hilde? HILDE!" Duo sprinted into the kitchen, the direction of the scream. Hilde was kneeling on the cracked linoleum floor, her arms around the neck of her family's golden retriever. She panted heavily, her leg snapped in an odd angle, and blood covered Hilde's pant leg from its severed tail.
"I'll call the police," Duo said quickly. "You call your parents. Whoever's done first will call the vet, okay?"
Hilde nodded mutely, her face an unearthly white. She pulled her cellular telephone from her back pocket. Duo turned and grabbed the cordless telephone, miraculously uninjured in the ravishment of the house, from the wall. Their voices melded together, speaking in time.
"Dad? Dad, something happened at our house."
"I'm reporting a hate crime. The address is…"
"…theTemple okay? Nothing's happened to…"
"No one's in the house except me and…"
"Mom's okay, too?"
"Thank you."
"I love you, Dad."
Duo hung up, and Hilde followed suite directly after. Duo picked up the telephone again. The number for the veterinarian was tacked up in the refrigerator, and Duo punched it in.
"Our dog was attacked," he said clearly into the receiver. "Her leg's broken and half her tail's been cut off. We're afraid to move her; can you send someone over? …Thank you."
Duo hung up again and turned to Hilde. "The vets will be here in about 15 minutes, and the police will be here in 10."
Hilde nodded dumbly, stroking the head of her dog. The dog's eyes were closed, and the laborious breathing was growing shallower. Duo walked over to and knelt behind Hilde, putting his arms around her.
"Dad's coming home now, and Mom will be here in an hour," Hilde said, her throat bubbling with saliva. She cleared her throat and leaned into Duo's chest.
"I'm glad no one was still in the house," Duo said.
"I would've taken them," Hilde said fiercely. "I could kill them for this."
Duo kissed the side of her face and tightened his grip on her. "Don't. I don't want to see you get arrested for killing scum like that."
Hilde sucked in a sudden breath. "Annie's been my dog for 5 years," she said reflectively, her hands still methodically stroking her dog's head. "I got her for my bat mitzah." She breathed very audibly. "I can't believe someone would do this."
"There're freaks like this everywhere," Duo muttered furiously, reaching out a hand to stroke Annie's head. "You'd think all this would've ended by now, but some people are just warped. The world's in a sorry state if people can pull of something like this. The world's in a sorry state anyway, but…"
Hilde wiped her eyes quickly with her forearm and cleared her throat again.
"When you said that to the vet—"our dog"—you sounded like my husband. So…I guess…anti-Semitism isn't as strong as it might be."
"No." Duo kissed the side of her face again. "It's not. Never with me."
Hilde choked on her breath, and a solitary tear spilled from her eyes and drifted down her cheek. Duo wiped it away with his fingers.
"Oh, God, Duo, I…I love you so much!"
"I love you too, Hilde," Duo said quietly, looking away. Each piece of shattered glass pierced into his soul, accounting for every tear Hilde would not allow herself to shed.
2: 43 PM—WINNER MANSION
"Hi, Quatre."
"Iria!" Quatre launched himself from the doormat and into his sister's arms. "I didn't know you were on your vacation."
"Yeah, I decided to take it. I also wanted to see your last field show of your high school career," Iria said as Quatre pulled back. "I'm having a snack, care to join me?"
"Sure!" Quatre dropped his bookbag alongside the couch and followed his twenty-nine-year-old sister into the dining room. She had made herself some tea, and poured some for her brother, as well. She reached into the fruit bowl and tossed Quatre an apple. She herself took an orange and sat down at the table. Quatre sat down across from her.
"How's work?" Quatre asked.
"Busy as ever. But, I'm being promoted to head of the OR staff."
"Really? That's great!"
"Means more work and the same pay, but it feels great to be the head of something," Iria said, smiling with self-pride. "I just wish it left some time open for a love life," she added, mock-wistfully. "Here I am, pushing thirty and no man to show for it…"
"You'll find someone, Iria, don't worry," Quatre reassured. "You're smart and talented and kind and beautiful. You'll find a guy."
"All the men I know are slobs or creeps or workaholics," Iria said. "It's no wonder some girls don't go for them."
"Iria, you know that it's a biological thing to be attracted to someone," Quatre reminded, suddenly very solemn.
"Yes, I know. "Biological for attraction, emotional for love", like you said." Iria glanced at her brother with discerning eyes. "Speaking of, has anyone been bothering you lately?"
Quatre opened his mouth and a small noise came out, but other than that, nothing.
Iria sighed and put down her half-peeled orange. "What's been going on, Quatre? Has anything been happening?"
"It's nothing horrible. Just…just some talk."
"Words hurt, Quatre," Iria said softly, staring at her brother. "You've always been so forgiving, but I can tell that it really bothers you. Have you said anything to Mother or Father yet?"
Quatre bowed his head. His silence was his answer.
"Quatre, you really should say something…"
"I can't." Quatre shook his head vehemently. "The last time I said something, they said that they'd send me to one of those anti-gay groups if it happened again."
Iria took a sip of tea, then put it down. "You know that they're really worried for you, Quatre. They want to make sure that you're safe."
"I know that, but…"
"But?"
"But…they also want me to "get better"," Quatre said, low but audible, his voice laden with an indescribable sorrow. "I can hear them when they talk about it. They think it's some sort of a condition…like I could get rid of it with enough medication. Or they think it's some kind of curse, like I'm following Satan or something…"
"Quatre, don't say that."
"It's true," Quatre deadpanned, without anger, only sorrow. "That's why…that's why I don't want them to know. I don't want to worry them into sending me away from Trowa and the others…"
Iria began toying with her orange peel. "Quatre, what if this turns…violent?"
"I've thought about that, Iria," Quatre said tiredly. "But I'd really hate myself if I ran away because of it. Some day people will accept people like me. Maybe…maybe me acting like a normal person and not running away will help that day come around quicker."
Iria reached her hand across the table and grabbed Quatre's. "You're so brave, Quatre. I'm sorry to put you on the spot like this, but I love you and I'm scared for you."
"I know," Quatre whispered.
The telephone rang, breaking the porcelain silence. Quatre stood and went to check the Caller ID.
"It's Duo," he announced, picking up the telephone. "Hello? …Hi, Duo. …What? …You're not serious. Is Hilde okay? …That's great. Don't worry, I'll account for you if they ask. …All right. Tell Hilde I'm so sorry, and if I can do anything to help, I'll do it. …Do you want me to call the others? …Oh, okay. All right. 'Bye."
"Quatre?" Iria asked as he hung up the telephone.
Quatre turned around with strangely empty eyes. "Do you remember Hilde Shbeiker?"
"Duo's girlfriend? Blue hair, blue eyes? Jewish?"
"Yeah, that's Hilde."
"What's the matter?"
"Someone destroyed her house."
"What!" Iria jumped up. "Why?"
"Because she's Jewish."
"Is she hurt?"
"No, Duo said the house was empty when they got there. He needed to call me so I could account for his and Hilde's absence if her parents don't let her go to the game tonight."
Iria sighed heavily. "Allah…what's wrong with the world? And you know what else, Quatre? This will mean bad publicity for us. Someone will blame it on the most predominant Arabic family within ten miles for an attack on Jews. Never mind the fact that you're friends with her." Iria sat down again. "And Quatre."
"Yeah?"
"This is why Mother and Father are worried. What if something like this happened? People do horrible things when they act righteous. You could be beaten, you could be killed…"
"I know that," Quatre said. "I thought about it long before I told Mother and Father I was gay. But I figured that I'm not much better than a homophobe if I'm going to hide myself because society doesn't like it."
Iria looked up at her brother with eye of mournful pride. "You're really brave, Quatre. You're a lot older than I was when I was 17." She looked down into her tea. "It's a very sad thing."
3: 09 PM—BARTON APARTMENT
"Sis?"
"Yeah, Trowa?" Cathy looked up from where she was concurrently stirring beef stew on their electrical stove.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" Trowa came up next to her.
"Darned if I become an invalid because of something like this," Cathy said with a very forced airy voice, giving the soup a few extra, hard stirs. "Get me some bowls, would you?"
Trowa complied silently, taking two bowls from his plain, wooden cabinet. Cathy's bright red-brown hair and gray-blue eyes were not only stark contrasts to each other but also to Trowa's threadbare apartment. Cathy seemed unconsciously determined to give his apartment the proverbial "woman's touch". The place did seem a little lighter and a lot less lonely and barren with her around.
"You know, it's because I wouldn't rest that I had to go to the doctor's, and if that hadn't happened I wouldn't have met you. So you should be grateful for a sister like me, eh?" Cathy turned off the stove and reached for a ladle with one hand and a bowl with the other.
"I'm looking out for you, Sis," Trowa said quietly.
Cathy brandished the ladle playfully at Trowa. "That's MY job. I'M the older sister, remember?"
The ladle slipped from Cathy's hand suddenly as her hand began to shake. She squinted her eyes shut and shook her head hard, and then grabbed the side of her face with both hands and pulled on her hair. Trowa was at her side in an instant.
"What is it?"
"Dizzy," Cathy breathed out, suddenly panting. "Room…spinning."
"Sit down." Trowa took her hand and led her from the kitchen to the living room, she stumbling several times along the way. He sat her down on the couch and leaned her in against the pillow backing. He leaned the back of his hand against her forehead. "You're burning up. I'm going to call 911."
Cathy's hand shot forward and grabbed Trowa's arm. "You can't afford that," she panted. "You're already…helping to pay for the transplant…"
"Stop worrying about that," Trowa ordered.
"Don't…call!"
As if a spell was broken, Cathy's head lifted and she was able to look at Trowa with eyes misted over by a film of moisture but clear and lucid.
"There. It's over." She wiped the moisture from her eyes and looked at her brother again, this time managing a wry smile.
Trowa pursed his lips, unable to be placated. He felt Cathy's forehead again. "You're still warm."
"You're not calling 911," Cathy snapped authoritatively. "I'll be fine. This has happened before. Just…can you get me some water, please?"
"Sure. I'll bring your soup, too."
"N-no thanks, I'm not very hungry now."
Trowa eyed her. "That's your symptoms talking. You need to eat. The iron in the beef will help with the anemia."
Cathy gave a half-sigh, half-chuckle. "I see my big sister attitude is hereditary."
"Yeah…suppose so."
4: 14 PM—DARLIAN MANSION
Relena ran her fingers through her hair, making sure that each strand was now dry enough for her to braid and pin up without it coming out as a mass of curls when she took the hair band outfrom it.
Her Drum Major uniform was laid out on her bed, next to the cordless telephone that she had tossed there after Hilde had called her to tell her about her house. It made Relena sick to think that someone could be so cruel, especially to Hilde. Hilde and Relena had become friends in unison with meeting each other and over the years had become almost like sisters. How could anyone desecrate a decent person's home like that?
CRASH!
Relena jumped away across her room as a rock smashed through her window. A jagged hole surrounded by a spider's web of cracks was now clearly visible in her window glass. The rock fell to the ground with a thud.
"Who's there!" Relena shouted, running to her window and throwing it open, narrowly avoiding the shards of glass that fell and shattered in the window pane. The yard was void of people. Trampled grass was the only sign that someone had been there.
Relena looked at the floor and knelt to inspect the rock. Copying Cassius to Brutus, a note was rubber-banded to the rock. A white dove was captured in a hawk's claws. The dove was bleeding from its stomach, wings, throat, and even its eyes. Written underneath, in bold red type, were the words "DEATH TO DOVES!"
"…Well, at least this one was creative," Relena said dumbly, standing up. Most of these messages displayed obscene and pornographic words or images, each with a similar proclamation of the uselessness of pacifists. Relena remembered once that her father's car windows had been smashed, his tires slashed, and the seats ripped into pieces. But no matter what they did, Relena was always shocked at what some people would go to.
This was the price one paid for opposing the war. Not that many people didn't, but it was certainly easier for the frustrated extremist war-hawks to take it out on the leading pacifist Congressman, also known as Mr. Darlian.
Relena recalled her and Dorothy's debates over the war, its aims, its accomplishments, and its repercussions in Debate Club; Relena as a dove, Dorothy as a hawk. She remembered nights after Congress meetings where her father came home with the defeated look of a beaten dog. She remembered joining several protests against the war, each peaceful in its means and each one overrun by warmongers or people freshly torn from loved ones feeling that the protestors were disrespecting those who had left or died.
Nothing was farther from the truth. Relena had been trying since 2003 to explain that she had neither contempt nor dislike of soldiers, only pity for the souls who were lost to war either literally or figuratively. She couldn't number the amount of letters she had stored away in a memory box, penned by her brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law, who were both currently on their way home from the war. She couldn't count on all her fingers the small snippets of letters that Heero had allowed her to read from his stepfather, who would be in Iraq for at least another three months. She couldn't begin to imagine the number of times she had bit her tongue from both worry and disagreement when Heero talked about the strong possibility of him joining the military after high school.
She hated wars because people died unnecessarily for silly things. Be it oil or money or land or power or the belief that man fights because it's programmed into him. Wars were senseless things that killed people, destroyed countries, and inevitably led to more wars. She had told this to Dorothy, Heero, her brother, and the Debate Club. She had been interviewed by both school and local newspapers on it. Her father quoted her in Congress.
And some people still didn't get it.
This was why, Relena realized suddenly, someone had trashed Hilde's home. Someone "hadn't gotten it", and what one doesn't understand, one fears. And when one is afraid, one goes to desperate extremes in order to "protect" themselves.
Relena looked at the stone on the floor with the same pity she used when looking at the souls being dragged off into another massacre. Then she turned around to her mirror and began braiding her hair, now with tears falling from her eyes.
4: 38 PM—LOWE-YUY HOUSEHOLD
Heero looked at the words written on the folded loose-leaf once more. The haphazard and cramped handwriting mixed with the wrinkled spots where sweat had dried denoted a writer who could only be Odin. It was addressed for three weeks ago, written with words that permeated their father-son relationship.
-Heero,
I'm sorry I can't be there for your last game as a Senior. If I'm really lucky, I might be able to come home in time for your Band Trip, depending on the situation here in Hell.
Yes, Hell. It's sandy, it's hot, and it's dirty. I'm in the middle of nowhere, avoiding mines by sheer luck. I haven't seen a town for weeks. It'd be nice to see people again. Ignore any news reports contradicting me, the people are generally pretty nice over here. Just my luck to get stuck where there's no people, eh?
I've been thinking about you lately, and how sucky a dad I've been. I hate having to be out here, especially now, when you're nearing graduation. I'm proud of your ambition to join the military but severely advise against it. Go to college and get an education before joining; you won't have to worry about terms of enlistment while you're still in school. Listen to that girlfriend of yours, Relena, her name is? Avoid fighting if you can.
Over here, it's been getting a lot more dangerous. Honestly, if I don't come home in three months I probably won't ever come home again. And I won't be able to write for a bit. This might be the last time I write to you. If that's the case, you keep what I say in mind. Follow your emotions. Listen to your heart. Live life in the present. I'm a sucky dad but I can guarantee that you'll live a good life if you follow my advice.
At the risk of sounding corny, I love you, Heero.
-If you can ever consider me a Dad,
OdinHeero folded up the letter and held it between his index and middle finger. He glanced over at the framed picture on their bookshelf. Odin stood facing the center, smirking at the camera, his hands in his pockets. A woman in a white wedding gown, her sandy-blonde hair down and her ocean-blue eyes sparkling with radiant happiness, pressed to her bosom a four-year-old child with a mess of brown hair and eyes identical to hers. At their feet, with the fancy handwriting of a sophisticated lady, was written in Russian:
Один, Rlяa, и Hяkru в мой свадебный день. День я не будет когда-либо забывать!
"Odin, Aralia, and Hikaru on my wedding day. A day I won't ever forget!"
Heero crossed the room to inspect the picture further. The little boy in the picture was laughing, content with the knowledge that life was stable once more, that two people and not one person would love him as their son.
A year later would destroy all that. A year later would announce that life was never stable. It was vengeful and treacherous and pernicious. One gun shot could change a person's life forever—could drag them across continents and oceans, could force them to live in hiding to protect one little life.
He lifted the picture and placed the letter right where it had been, then rested the picture on top of it. This time his eyes studied the woman. She'd had such a "mom" smell, the smell that didn't smell like anything else in the world but "mom". Her eyes were the most vivid things he remembered, next to her scent. They were eyes he had inherited. There always seemed to be tears in them—of pain, of sorrow, of laughter, of happiness. The only time her eyes had been completely dry was the day she…
No. He couldn't think of that now. If he did, nothing would stop him from taking the gun and shooting the first thing that looked remotely like that man. He squinted his eyes shut and forced himself to think of something else.
The old memory of Relena came back to him. Every time he remembered it felt like he was reliving it: the arms around his stomach, the fresh-picked-cotton scent of her hair, the laughter like precious metals. As often as it had been used it should've been dog-eared and age-worn, but it was new each time.
"My girlfriend Relena, huh?" he murmured, glancing at the letter underneath the picture. His face remained unmoved for an everlasting span of two seconds, and then the corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk.
He turned toward the door and took the keys off the peg, opened the door and shut it behind him, went to his car, and drove away.
4: 45 PM—MAXWELL CHURCH
Hilde looked up from what must've been the fifth cup of tea Sister Helen had prevailed upon her. The nun was bustling around the sanctuary, nervously smoothing out creases in the bench cushions. At Hilde's urging, Davida Shbeiker was helping Sister Helen in her task. Rabbi Aaron Shbeiker and Father James Maxwell were still standing in the pulpit, talking in low voices.
"Hilde, wake up."
A pair of fingers snapped in front of her face, and she looked up. Duo was looking down at her concernedly.
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to come," he said, for what felt like the millionth time since Hilde announced her intention to go to the football game, despite the fact that her uniform had been thrashed into unrecognizable shreds of spandex and sequins. "If they come to the game…"
"I don't care if they come," Hilde said firmly. "I'm not hiding from them."
"Hilde." Duo squatted down in front of her and looked up into her face. "I admire your bravery. I really do. But people like that don't have any reason. If you go out in the open, you can bet that they'd try to hurt you. Maybe even try to kill you."
"And what about you? If they know that much about me, they could go after you, too," Hilde argued.
"Hilde, I lived for two years over in that ghetto, from when I was 5 until I came here. I know how to fight dirty like them."
"So I'm weak?"
Duo shook his head. "You're not weak. But you don't fight like they do. It's easier for you to get hurt when you can't fight like the other side can."
"I'd rather fight my own way," Hilde proclaimed, loudly and resolutely, in a voice that echoed around the sanctuary. "And I'm going to this game."
Duo swore loudly and stood up. "You're so frickin' stubborn. You're an idiot sometimes."
Hilde smiled up at him; mischief, resolution, and sorrow mixed together within that small smile. "You love me anyway."
"Yeah, to my misfortune," he growled, but a joking manner had crept into his voice. "They probably won't let you march without your uniform, but if we explain, they'll let you sit with the band. And if your parents and my family go too, I guess it should be okay. But if one person looks at you funny, I'll have to kill them. And I'll hold you responsible for that…"
"Oh, shut up," Hilde said, pushing his leg. She stood up and slapped her face to get the blood circulating again. She took Duo's hand and stabbed his palm with her fingernails to make him squirm a bit, then smiled at him again.
"Mom, Dad? I've decided that I'm going to the game."
